


In the Shadow of Death

by A_Zap



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Death Omens, Family, Funny, Gen, Grim au, Humor, Pines Family, joml AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-29 10:04:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10851714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Zap/pseuds/A_Zap
Summary: It all started with the grim. Now it seems like every time he turns around, Ford finds yet another death omen hanging around his brother. Seriously, what exactly is going on with his brother that death constantly seems to follow his footsteps? A 5+1 fic of the death omens that adopted Stan and he adopted back.





	1. The Grim

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published on FF.net between May 13 and June 1, 2016, and later published on my Tumblr.
> 
> This is based on the JOML AU by @notllorstel that was then added to by @thesnadger and @impishnature so check out their stuff for more Grim and co fun on Tumblr.

Ford sighed as he walked out the front door of the Sha- his house. He had run out of Lullaby Leaves, which he needed for his latest experiment. Plus, it might help him sleep at night even though the barrier around the house had helped relieve some of his worries in that regard. Luckily for him, the last time he had checked, there was a patch of the plant not too far into the forest.

However, all thoughts of his task were dashed from his mind as he took in the dark figure before him in the yard.

To anyone else, it probably would have been easily mistaken for a large, black dog. But this was no normal dog. A dog’s eyes didn’t have a sinister white glow. A dog didn’t bring an aura of doom and despair in its wake.

A grim.

Chills went up and down Ford’s spine. Anxiety settled like a cold stone in his stomach and he subconsciously shifted into a fighting stance as dread was cast upon him like a mantle.

_What is this omen doing here?_ Ford asked within his thoughts. _Scratch that, stupid question._ A grim only had one purpose. The better, and more relevant, question was who it was here for. How that person would be leaving was also important to find out. Unfortunately, it’s not like the menace could answer.

Suddenly, Ford felt the blood drain from his face as he put some puzzle pieces together. _Holy Moses, is Bill –_

Before he could finish that thought, the grim made its move. It had been staring at him, almost puzzled he would say if he didn’t know better, but now it came towards him, quickly gaining speed. Ford stiffened, ready to take whatever it could give –

And it completely ignored him, slipping past him and somehow phasing right through the door.

He blinked, stunned for a surprised moment, before he recovered and quickly scrambled to open the door.

Ford’s heart stopped for a beat as he reopened the door only to see the grim leaping onto his brother as he came down the stairs. “Stanley!” He yelled and braced himself to hear his brother’s cries as he was torn apart by the beast of doom. He had always thought grims were merely indicators of what was to come but this attack seemed to prove him wrong.

The sound that met Ford’s ears was a different one entirely than what he had been expecting.

Stan was laughing.

Ford blinked owlishly at the sight before him.

Stan had indeed been knocked over by the grim’s antics, but he didn’t seem hurt at all. On the contrary, he was laughing as he sat sprawled on the steps and the grim affectionately licked his face. He seemed to be offering some token resistance with small attempts of trying to push it off, but it clearly wasn’t genuine.

“Come on. Down, girl.” Stan said as the grim nuzzled his neck. “It’s good to see you, too.” He managed to finally stand up, but the grim stuck by his side.

It really didn’t look like the ominous harbinger of death Ford had seen outside when it was wagging its tail like that.

Stan noticed Ford’s incredulous look. “What?”

“You – that’s – “ The elder stammered over his words.

“Yay!” Mabel’s bright voice cut through the awkwardness. “The doggie’s back!” She was a blur as she rushed from the other room in order to hug the grim.

“Mabel, that’s…” Ford’s voice trailed off as he sensed that it’d be an exercise in futility to try to get her to stop hugging the beast.

Dipper came up next to him at a more sedate pace. He, too, watched the scene before them. “So, have I been right in thinking that’s a grim?” He asked, glancing up at Ford.

“Yes, it certainly seems so.” Ford adjusted his glasses in his discomfort. He had to be seeing things. “Wait, it’s been here before?” Mabel’s words finally registered in his brain.

“Yeah. It’s Grunkle Stan’s dog.” At Ford’s dumbfounded look, all Dipper could do was shrug. “She comes and goes as she pleases, but she’s apparently been around for almost 30 years.”

Ford’s eyes widened. A grim had been hanging around his brother for 30 years?

“Who’s a good girl?” Stan laughed again as he now rubbed the grim’s belly. “Who’s a good Omen?”

That’s not how Ford would put it…

* * *

It wasn’t the first time Stan had seen the dog. Actually, now that he thought about it, the first time he had spotted it had been when he had been burning up from the infection from the brand on his back but was still trying to work. It hadn’t been the last time he’d seen it though.

He couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for it. After all, with the state of its unruly fur, it was obviously a stray and it had to be desperate to be trying to scrounge up food around here.

Stan could definitely understand what it was like to be a stray.

That’s why he was determined to do something about it.

As night closed in, he made just a bit extra to his normal meal. A quick check showed the dog was still there. He ate his portion and placed the extra on a separate plate. Then, he picked it up and walked out the door towards the dog where it lurked on the woods’ edge.

Stan knew to approach cautiously. He’d almost been bit too many times when feeding the occasional stray creature in the various cities and towns he’d been to. This was why he stopped halfway between the Shack and the dog in the tree line.

“Hey,” he called, “I brought something for you.” He set down the plate and took a few steps back.

The dog seemed a bit confused, yet intrigued, as it came up to the plate and gave him a look over, cocking its head. It sniffed at the food for a moment before taking a cautious bite. It wasn’t long before the small meal was gone as the dog wolfed it down.

“Yeah, I know what it’s like to be that hungry.” Stan commented. “But it’s better now, right?” He held out a hand to the dog, though now he could see that it was a girl.

She sniffed his hand, looking between him and the plate. Her eyes were a bit strange, almost seeming to glow, but after a moment, they finally stopped on him. Stan prepared himself to snatch his hand back if this went sideways.

The dog gave him a grin, tongue lolling and tail wagging. She came closer and let Stan pet her.

Stan grinned, brushing his hands down the surprisingly soft coat of the dog.

He really hoped she’d stick around a bit.

* * *

“You do know it’s not normal for a dog to still be alive for 30 years, right?” Ford pointed out.

“Eh, but it’s nice that she is. Besides it’s not like she’s here _all_ the time. She’s a free spirit.” Stan shrugged as he continued stocking shelves, the grim at his heels. The kids had quickly lost interest in it as it wasn’t new to them and gone back to watching TV, so it was just the two brothers.

“Stan, it can phase through walls.” Ford said, exasperated. He did not want his younger brother hanging around a grim, even if he had been doing so for 30 years without any apparent ill effects.

“First of all, she’s a she.” Stan gave the grim a fond pat on the head at his words, prompting a tail wag. “Second of all, Omen going through walls is nowhere close to being the weirdest thing I’ve seen over the years in this wacko town.”

“I still can’t believe you named it.” Ford sighed as he pressed his face into his hands. He was already getting a headache over this. “And why Omen of all things?”

Stan put down the empty box of merchandise and bent to open a new one. “Well, one time, closer to when she started to hang out here, I was taking her for a walk and we came across Old Man McGucket. He started yelling about death and bad omens or something like that. Anyway, I though Omen sounded like a great name.”

Ford felt a slight twitch at the mention of his old partner, but moved past it to try to drive the point home. “Stanley, you can’t tell me that you don’t just _feel_ that aura?”

“What aura?”

“That presence of doom and gloom!” The elder twin waved at the grim to emphasize his point.

Stan just looked at him, clearly not getting it. He shook his head and turned away from him. “I always feel like that.” He muttered to himself, obviously not intending for Ford to hear.

Ford blinked, because the implication of that…

Wait.

“Stanley, stop hugging the grim!”

“No.” Stan had picked up the grim in a hug-like hold, with its head under his own and its front paws hanging over his forearms. He walked like that towards the living room. “Kids, scooch over. There’s enough time to help Omen catch up on Baby Fight before the first tour shows up.”

Ford got the feeling he was never going to get rid of this death omen.


	2. A Murder of Crows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally published on FF.net between May 13 and June 1, 2016 and later published on Tumblr.

Ford paused as he placed his latest experiment in the back of the fridge. He really hoped with it back there Mabel and Stan wouldn’t mistake it for “highly suspect but potentially edible” food like they had last time when he’d placed the jellied Nigorian eel brains in there.

That had not been a pleasant evening.

The eldest of the Pines straightened and tilted his head. It seemed like he hadn’t been mistaken; that was definitely the sound of cawing. _But why is it so loud?_ He wondered.

Following his ears, he walked out of the door onto the porch. The first thing he noticed was the grim lounging in front of the battered couch. It seemed like it had decided to stick around, much to Stan’s delight and Ford’s dread. He still didn’t understand how his brother could stand to have it around but had learned not to question it over the last couple of days; it only provoked Stan and Mabel’s ire.

In any case, Ford followed the grim’s gaze towards the yard.

For the second time in as many days, Ford stared at the sight before him with a sense of trepidation. A murder of crows, specifically a murder of six crows which was a sure omen of death, was settled around his brother. This was another sign, and there was no way this could be good, and –

Wait.

Was Stan _feeding_ these birds?

“Do dee do, feeding the crows – Do do do, it’s like an old man hobby – “

And was he _singing_ about it?

Ford’s pounding heart slowed down as he incredulously and fully took in the sight before him: his younger brother took another handful of breadcrumbs and birdseed from a bowl in his other hand and threw it to the eager little omens. Stan didn’t even seem to notice the weight of one that had decided to perch atop his fez.

This scene made about as much sense as Stan’s attachment to the grim.

And like any anomaly Ford came across, he just had to investigate.

“Stanley, what are you doing?” He asked as he stepped off the porch and headed towards his brother.

Stan turned to him, the bird on top of him moving with and if the situation had been different it almost would have been comical. As it was, Ford found himself fixed in place by the crow’s beady eyes glaring at him. Actually, the entire murder stopped what it was doing just to look at him. It was quite unnerving.

“I’m feeding the birds, of course. I thought you of all people would be able to figure that out, Poindexter.” Stan snickered a bit at Ford failing to see what he thought was obvious. To be fair, it kind of was.

Ford could almost _sense_ the grim laughing at him from the porch.

Pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to hold off a headache, he sighed. “Stanley, do you even know the significance of these birds?”

Stan gave him a thoroughly unimpressed look. “They’re just a bunch of crows, Ford,” he said. “There’s nothing _significant_ about them. No offense.” He hurriedly told the crows.

They apparently didn’t take offense as the crows had already gone back to gobbling up the freely offered food.

“Well, it’s not the birds themselves rather than their number that’s a problem.” Ford admitted.

Stan continued to frown at him, but he did turn to look at the crows, silently counting the number. “So there’s six.” He shrugged, not really seeing why that was important, before his expression turned thoughtful. “Then again, these guys do seem to always turn up in sixes.”

* * *

Stan wasn’t one to really pay attention to birds. Like many things, Ford had been the one who was into observing and categorizing any creature that had come their way. The only time the younger twin paid animals much mind nowadays, besides the occasions where Omen showed up, was when they appeared as blurry blobs running or flying in the the road ahead of his car.

On a side note, maybe he should start wearing his glasses again. He was pretty sure his road kill count had gone up exponentially since moving to the wooded area.

Still, despite all this, one would have to have been blind not to notice these crows.

They seemed to be everywhere he turned. This town seemed to have an overly large crow population. Unless they were just the same crows appearing everywhere that Stan went.

He wondered if it was possible to be stalked by an animal in a non-“I’m going to eat you” way.

Well, it wasn’t like it was his problem anyway. Animals would be animals and they could go wherever they wanted.

However, when he thought about it, there was a way he could turn all this to his advantage.

The first time Stan fed them was in the park while taking Omen for a walk. She had popped up once more and had been sticking unusually close.

Come to think of it, she’d come back right around the time the crows had started showing up.

Weird.

Her walks were always a surprise because normally she detested the collar and leash needed for the act and would phase out of it. But occasionally she’d trot up to him and nudge them at him, signaling she wanted him to take her out. This time though, he’d come armed with part of a loaf of bread just this side of going stale.

The birds were there as they had been lately, so when he decided to take a break on a park bench, it was a simple matter of grabbing a hunk from the loaf, crumbling it up in his hand, and scattering it on the ground before him.

These birds weren’t as cautious as Omen was the first time he fed her. Two of them immediately flew down to snatch up the bread crumbs. It didn’t take long for the others to follow though, so Stan just kept tossing them more. Soon, he was surrounded by the small flock, a murder he remembered Ford once saying.

Absently, he noticed that there were six of them total.

When the bread had run out, the crows almost seemed to exchange a look between themselves and then, as one, they looked at Stan. It was kinda eerie, like they had come to a decision, and he felt Omen tensing up where she leaned against his leg. However, whatever the birds’ issue seemed to be, they got over it as they took off, returning to their previous positions and leaving only a few feathers in their wake. Omen’s tail was wagging once more.

Stan grew into the habit of feeding the crows. First it was just at the park, but pretty soon, he did it in the Shack’s yard as well. Like the dog, they would come and go, but they tended to hang out at the Shack when they were around in the hopes of getting fed.

And that suited Stan just fine.

* * *

“Look, I think you’re reading way too into this, Ford.” Stan rolled his eyes. He tapped the bottom of the bowl in order to get the last of the bird feed out. “I feed them, so they come. It’s not all that complicated.”

“Well, I’m sure there is that.” Ford adjusted his glasses as the crows finished their meal and seemed to opt for glaring at him. “But are you sure they’re…” He searched for the appropriate word. “Normal?”

It wasn’t really the word he wanted, but Stan had already brushed aside the fact that his “dog” was a grim. He wouldn’t take him seriously if he told him this was another death omen, and the crows didn’t carry the same aura of death to try to help convince him.

“Normal’s kinda relative in this town, Poindexter.” Stan pointed out.

“True.” He couldn’t deny that. “Still, don’t these birds seem odd?”

“Not really.” Stan shrugged.

“But aren’t these the same birds that you first encountered?” If dogs weren’t meant to live 30 years, then birds most definitely weren’t.

Stan laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Ford; of course, they’re not the same birds. Their parent must’ve just taught them where to get food over generations like other birds do.”

Ford spared a glance at the crows who still held him in their sights. He got the distinct feeling these were the same crows.

“Besides, these guys are good for business.” Stan grinned that familiar smile of a practiced con man.

As if taking a cue, the crows suddenly took flight. They didn’t go very far though as they settled atop the totem pole and adjacent banner lines. Then they just stayed there, a slightly ominous presence.

“See?” Stan’s smile didn’t dim. “They really add to the mysterious atmosphere. I swear my profits go up whenever they come around.”

“Right.” Ford said weakly.

“Anyway, whatever’s bothering you about them, I’m sure you’re just thinking too hard.” Stan clapped him on the shoulder before heading back inside, the grim getting up and following at his heels.

Ford stood there a moment, despite knowing that he should probably return to the basement before the next tour arrived. He looked from where the grim had been laying down to the crows and back again.

One omen was bad enough, but Ford knew he would never convince Stan to get rid of the grim. Unfortunately, it seemed like this would be the case with this second omen as well.

For two such potent omens to be around, apparently for decades, and fixated on his younger brother…

Ford didn’t like this at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: @notllorstel actually made some art to go with this chapter. Their art is really cute so check it out.
> 
> And fun fact: the number of crows there are determines the meaning of their presence. Six means death of course, and a single one is bad luck, but two crows actually signal good luck. The other amounts mean things too.


	3. The Banshee

Ford noticed the screaming during one of his first nights back in his own dimension. It had startled him awake just as he was finally drifting to sleep. As he had bolted upright, terror filling his heart and making it pound, he had identified the noise immediately.

The scream of a banshee.

He had only heard it a few times during his six years here; however, he had never managed to track the creature to record it in his journals, which was probably for the best. Still, the hair-raising screech reminded him once more why he had seldom visited the forest at night.

Besides, depending on the lore, a banshee wasn’t really something you wanted to meet at any time of the day.

Needless to say, Ford hadn’t gotten much sleep that night.

Stan, of course, had brushed it off when he brought it up at breakfast.

“Ford, stop blaming every little thing on supernatural weirdness.” The younger of the two said as he made another plate of Stancakes. “That screaming’s been going off every once in a while for as long as I’ve been here. It’s probably some poor sap falling to a bear or a mountain lion.” There was a short, significant pause. “Or I guess it could be one of the dinosaurs on the loose.”

“Wait. What dinosaurs?”

The discovery that there were apparently dinosaurs in the abandoned mines of Gravity Falls was a sufficient distraction to derail that particular conversation. Ford didn’t forget about the banshee’s wail though. Stan might deny it, but really, of the two of them, who was the expert in the paranormal?

Despite that, even he didn’t realize what he was looking at at first. After all, though you expect to hear one, you never expect to _see_ a banshee.

He had spent the day with Dipper trying to track down a nest of flower fairies. Mabel had been upset over her latest crush falling through, so they wanted to find at least one to help cheer her up. Their search had been fruitless, and Ford had found himself just sitting on the porch couch, trying to relax.

That’s where he was when he caught a glimpse of her.

At first, he just noticed a flash of something pale against the dark brown and green hues of the forest. As Ford looked closer, he noticed it was a young woman probably in her 20s or 30s. Despite being outside for who knew how long, her skin was a deathly pale. Everything about her was pale actually, from her silver white hair that fell past her waist in waves, to her gray eyes, to her pale, bare toes peeking out from under her light blue dress. The dress itself was an oddity as its design reminded him of garb worn in Arthurian tales and movies.

The most striking thing about her though was the sense of wrongness about her. It was like he wasn’t supposed to see her at all, but she didn’t seem to be a ghost. There was a sharpness, a deadliness to her gaze that didn’t sit right with Ford, and he didn’t like the fact that she had his house right in her sights as she looked around a tree she was almost hiding behind.

Before Ford could investigate further, he heard a delighted gasp, and he looked down at its source.

“She’s back!” Mabel’s eyes were shining as she took in the sight of the feminine figure. Her pet pig followed her out as per usual and plopped down next to his feet.

Ford blinked. “Do you know her?” Maybe he was overreacting and she was just one of the weird residents of the town.

“Hmm?” Mabel looked up at him. “Oh, not really well. Grunkle Stan says he thinks she’s some kind of forest guardian or something.”

So it was one of Gravity Falls’ creatures. However, looking again at that mostly emotionless, pale face and icy eyes, which admittedly softened a tad as they gazed at his house, he couldn’t quite agree with that particular assessment of what it was.

“Are you _sure_ it’s a guardian of some sort?” Ford couldn’t help but ask.

“Well, Dipper’s convinced she’s a banshee.” Mabel said bluntly, rolling her eyes and not noticing the way her great uncle stiffened at her words. “But Grunkle Stan says she’s been around for years and she’s really nice and looks after him when he’s been in the woods.”

She continued talking but Ford wasn’t listening anymore.

Another death omen?!

Seriously, he spends practically his whole life encountering the supernatural here and across the multiverse and he never meets a single death omen, but he comes back and suddenly they’re practically crawling out of the woodwork. And they all seem to be connected to his brother in one way or another.

What in the world was going on?

“But do you know what the saddest part is?” Mabel’s words dragged Ford’s attention back to her, “Despite knowing each other all these years, they’ve never really talked!” Her waving arms emphasized her exasperation with the two.

“Why is that important?” Ford asked without thinking, most of his mind still caught up in the fact that there was another death omen hanging over them.

Mabel stared at him for a moment before giving a huge sigh. “Ah, Grunkle Ford, just look at her!” She gestured at what was surely a banshee.

Ford looked but he couldn’t really see what she was getting at.

“The long looks, the sighs, the need to protect Grunkle Stan: it’s all too obvious to a love expert of my caliber.” Mabel paused for dramatic effect before she could no longer hold back the excited squeal she had obviously been keeping back. “She totally has a crush on Grunkle Stan!”

_What?_

“Oh my gosh!” Mabel gasped, her hands clutching her cheeks as an idea hit her. “I should totally give her some advice! I’m great at matchmaking!”

_What?!_

Ford wondered if this was what Fiddleford’s computer had felt like when it had to reboot. He simply couldn’t comprehend the concepts of “banshee,” “Stanley,” and “crush” together. It just… didn’t make sense.

Mabel, oblivious to the fact she might have fried her great uncle’s brain, ran out to the banshee, practically bouncing.

The only thing Ford found he could do was stare out at them.

_A banshee… a death omen… could potentially be attracted to… in a romantic way… to my brother._

There was a comforting weight on his leg that startled him out of his spiraling thoughts, and he glanced down to see Waddles placing his hoof on him in a show of solidarity. Ford gave the pig a thin smile.

Seriously though, how did something like this come about?

* * *

Stan frowned up at the darkened sky. It had gotten darker a lot faster than he had thought it would. Considering he’d lived here for several years, you’d think he’d be able to gauge this sort of thing by now.

He gripped the straps of his backpack a bit tighter as he continued on his way back to the Shack. Given it was his day off, he had spent it like he always did, looking for Ford’s other journals. Seriously, couldn’t the nerd have left any clues as to where to find them?

Still, Stan had stayed out way too late, and with how cautious you had to be with the forest’s residents by day, he was not planning to see what crawled out at night.

His point was proven as he tripped over a root hidden by the darkness the nearly full moon couldn’t banish away, though his lack of glasses probably didn’t help. He couldn’t right himself in time and found himself tumbling down a small hill and into a tangle of vines; his momentum lead to half his body sticking out the other side.

Stan blinked at the sight before him.

On the other side of the vines was a grove, and in it was a young woman, about his age, who he had clearly startled with his unorthodox entrance. As she took in his tangled up form, she let out a small giggle and immediately slapped her hand over her mouth as if surprised by the slip.

Stan quickly stood up and brushed off the dirt accumulated from his fall. He gave her a onceover as well. She was quite pretty, even in her super old dress, as she almost seemed to glow in the moonlight. Really, he almost couldn’t help the words that popped out of his mouth.

“What’s a lovely lady like you doing in a place like this?”

Stan resisted the urge to smack himself. Seriously, this wasn’t the time to flirt! He was probably coming off like a creep. After all, they were all alone in the woods!

Luckily for him, she seemed more confused at his words than anything else. Still, he felt the need to explain himself.

“I mean, it’s late and you’re by yourself.” _Actually, that kinda makes it worse._ “Look, I’m not a creep or anything…” _Wow, not helping._ “Can I walk you home or something?”

A glance downwards showed that her feet were bare so she couldn’t live too far away. Besides, it wasn’t like he could leave her here.

Stan rubbed the back of his neck nervously, really hoping he wouldn’t be taken for a bad guy. It didn’t seem like she thought that, her expression was still puzzled like he was one of Ford’s codes he was trying to figure out. Though he could be mistaken, it also seemed like there might be a spark of amusement in her luminescent eyes.

She opened her mouth to answer him a couple times before she finally cleared her throat and spoke. “You should leave these woods.”

Huh, her voice sounded hoarser than his after a night of screaming at a concert in his youth. It made it a bit hard to hear her so he leaned in to listen closely.

“It’s dangerous.” She warned, and with that, she slipped away between the trees.

“Hey!” Stan looked around, trying to spot where she went, but there was no trace of where she’d gone.

He hesitated a few moments more. He didn’t want to just leave someone out here, but the warning in the lady’s tone had been clear. It was almost like she knew something he didn’t and it set off alarm bells that had kept him alive for years.

Begrudgingly, Stan continued his trek back to the Shack. The whole time, it felt like someone was watching him, and he had a faint inkling as to who it could be.

It didn’t take too long to finally reach the relative safety of the inside of the Shack, and then he wanted to smack his head for an entirely different reason.

He forgot to ask her name!

* * *

“Oh. Hey!” Stan’s voice startled Ford from his reverie.

He hadn’t realized he was still staring at Waddles as he tried to wrap his mind around Mabel’s assumption.

Ford looked up to see Stan in his “relaxing” clothes of just his undershirt and boxers holding a can of Pitt Cola in his left. His right hand was lifted up in a wave towards the banshee.

She looked up from whatever Mabel was telling her to see Stan.

“Hey, Lady!” He called, a slight grin on his face.

The banshee gave a small wave back, and to Ford’s shock, it almost looked like she was smiling. And was that a blush?!

Before Ford could get a better look, Mabel had tugged on her sleeve and her face was hidden by a curtain of hair as she looked back down at his niece.

Stan put down his hand and Ford glanced over at his brother.

“You do know she’s not human, right?” He asked before remembering where Mabel got the idea of a forest guardian from. Considering the conman’s denial of the previous death omens, he thought he could be forgiven for his lapse.

Stan snorted. “Of course I know, Poindexter. She hasn’t aged a day since I first saw her back near my mid-30s.”

Ford paused, another question on his mind. “Why did you call her ‘Lady?’”

“Well, when I finally got a chance to ask her name, she mentioned if she did have one, she couldn’t remember it. And well,” he shrugged, “she’s a fine lady, so why not?”

The elder Pines blinked. “You’ve _talked_ to her?”

“Not much. Lady’s not much of a talker, you know? But she is nice company when walking through the woods.”

Ford stared at his brother. He couldn’t believe he would consider a banshee to be a “nice” anything. People had rightly feared banshees for hundreds of years as an omen. This whole thing was just so weird, even by his standards.

Then again, his brother also seemed to have tamed a grim.

Looking across the yard, Ford noticed Mabel was wrapping up whatever she was lecturing about. The banshee nodded at whatever she’d been told and somehow disappeared into the tree line. Mabel was skipping back though, a bright smile on her face.

“Should we be worried about what Mabel told her?” Ford frowned slightly.

“Nah.” Stan replied, taking a sip of his pop. “Besides, at least she’s not moping anymore.”

Considering that that had been his goal for the day, Ford decided to let it slide.

Until a couple days later and he came out in the morning to find a funeral wreath on the porch. Despite Mabel’s assurances that she’d explain the concept of giving flowers better next time, it did not help Ford’s worries regarding his death-omen-surrounded brother. Nor did it help the fact that the sight had nearly given him a heart attack.

Stan’s amusement at the whole thing really just made things worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: So this banshee is based on @impishnature‘s version on Tumblr. She’s wearing clothes that wouldn’t look out of place in a King Arthur story or Pixar’s Brave.
> 
> Also, I should note that despite what Mabel thinks, the banshee doesn’t have a crush on Stan. At least in the romantic sense. She does like and care for him though.


	4. The Daytime Owl

Ford narrowed his eyes at the sight before him. Then, he glanced at the sky.

Yes, it was still the middle of the day.

_So this_ , Ford thought as his gaze lowered once more _, should not be awake right now._

The owl didn’t seem to care that it should be asleep and just hooted benignly at Ford.

Of course, the bird was anything but benign. It may seem like a normal… Spotted Owl, he identified, with its dark eyes and brown and white mottled feathers, but Ford knew better.

A daytime dwelling owl was an omen of death.

Every time he turned around, it was like Ford found yet another death omen haunting the Sha- house. If it turned out that this one also had something to do with his brother, he was doing to get another streak of light gray in his hair from all this stress.

All he had wanted to do was check the unicorn hair barrier, but instead he had found an owl perched on the roof. Now, he was stuck in a staring contest with the thing.

“Uh, Great Uncle Ford? What are you doing?”

Ford turned to see Dipper looking at him quizzically.

“Do you know what that is?” The elder gestured at the owl.

Dipper followed the movement of his hand and peered up at the roof and the owl balefully watching them. “Oh, that’s the owl that lives in the opposite part of the attic from us.”

“It lives here?!” Ford blinked in surprise, unsure how he missed that. Plus, it didn’t bode well that the owl had already bedded down inside the house.

“Yeah. I’m surprised you didn’t notice.” Dipper echoed his thoughts. “But then again, it’s pretty discrete.” A spark of realization lit in his eyes and he pulled out a pen and notebook. “Wait, is it really just an owl? Is it some sort of other creature? Does it have some really weird power?” He fired out the questions, clicking his pen excitedly.

“Well, technically, I suppose it’s just an owl.” Ford adjusted his glasses, bowled over by Dipper’s enthusiasm for the paranormal like usual. Still, Dipper didn’t need to worry about these omens.

“Then why are you kinda freaking out about it?” The boy frowned, and Ford was struck by how observant his nephew and niece could be at times.

“As you may have noticed, this particular owl is not nocturnal.” Dipper eagerly nodded along to his explanation. “This is couple with the fact that it roosts within the house at night.”

“So those are both significant?”

“Yes. It’s not one of the well-known omens, but it still is one when you take these facts into account.” Ford sent the owl another suspicious glare.

Dipper was hurriedly making notes. “Huh. We’ve got a lot of omens that live around here.” His brow furrowed before he looked up at Ford with large worried eyes. “Is something bad going to happen?” He glanced around anxiously.

“Given that it seems all of these have been hanging around for a while, I’m sure nothing will happen.” Ford attempted to reassure both himself and Dipper, patting his nephew on the shoulder. He knew that in his case, it wasn’t really working. He turned back to study the owl with a more critical eye. “I wonder how long this one’s been around,” he mused.

“Well, according to Grunkle Stan, the first one showed up years ago, and they’ve just passed down the nest each generation.” Dipper said matter-of-factly, shrugging his shoulders to indicate how dubious that story was.

“I’ve never heard anything like that happening.” Ford’s frown deepened. “But then again, this is Gravity Falls.”

In this town, anything seemed possible, even owls passing down a nest and hanging over a house as an omen of death.

* * *

Stan blinked as he heard a faint hooting sound. He frowned, because that couldn’t be right, it was still the middle of the day.

He may not get many tourists during winter, but as it was winter break for schools, he did have a couple every now and then. The few he had today looked around in confusion, turning away from the Rock That Looked Like a Face Rock.

Gazing around himself, Stan quickly spotted the culprit. Up on the porch roof, sitting in the snow, was an owl with mostly brown feathers. He squinted up at it and adjusted his glasses because even a non-nerd like him knew an owl wasn’t supposed to be up right now.

The owl just stared back and cocked its head as if daring him to make a big deal about this.

Actually, Stan decided he would. The crows had taught him how to turn nature itself to his advantage.

“Behold!” Stan directed the tourists’ gaze up to the owl. “The foreboding owl of Doom! This fella flips the script and is awake during the day and sleeps at night. But be warned,” he wagged his eyebrows menacingly and dropped his tone, “anyone who spends time in a place that harbors a creature such as this has a greater chance of meeting Death!”

The tourists gasped in horror. Stan easily kept a straight face even as he grinned internally. It was way too easy to play these people.

“Unless,” he paused dramatically, pulling a sack from his pocket, “you make a generous donation to appease its wrath and convince it to leave.”

They quickly coughed up the cash and the conman was pleased that he managed to not start snickering right then and there. _Hook, line, and sinker._ He quickly directed them towards the gift shop, concluding the tour. They’d be so grateful to get back in the warmth after their short stint outside in the later part of the tour, they would spend even more money.

Before he followed them, Stan spared a glance at the owl. It was still staring at him with large, unblinking eyes. “You know you’re supposed to _sleep_ during the day, right?”

It finally blinked back at him, but it didn’t look like it was budging from that spot anytime soon.

Stan shook his head. _Well, it’s not my problem._ He thought as he went to take those suckers for all they were worth.

He didn’t think about the owl again until night had fallen and he heard a rustling in the attic as he was preparing to go work on the portal. Stan frowned at the noise, wondering if Omen had come back without him noticing.

Further investigation revealed the same owl from earlier putting the finishing touches on a nest in the rafters of the attic. It seemed to check over its handiwork one last time before settling down.

“How did you get in here?” Stan couldn’t help but ask, glancing around while fervently hoping a giant hole hadn’t opened up in the roof or wall. A hole would just waste heat, and money, during winter.

The owl opened a single eye as if annoyed.

“Hey, it’s a legit question. Don’t get so cocky when it’s not even your house.” Stan replied defensively.

If he hadn’t known better, Stan would’ve sworn the owl rolled its eyes. As it was, it seemed to give a reassuring hoot.

He hoped that this meant the owl could phase through walls like Omen and therefore he didn’t have to worry about leaks.

“Well, if that’s all, I guess I’ll leave you. You really helped out with those tourists after all. Though you should know that this is supposed to be your prime time right now.” Stan pointed out before he went downstairs to get back to work. He wouldn’t admit he had been happy for the distraction as it had taken his mind off the phantom burn on his shoulder that tended to appear in winter.

In any case, he mused as he made his way down, he should have figured over all these years he’d been here that the animals are as weird as everything else.

* * *

“Stanley, why do you have an owl that sleeps upstairs at night?” Ford asked as he and Dipper entered the kitchen where Stan was finishing up lunch.

“Why not? It’s not like Hoodini the 3rd’s causing any harm up there,” Stan flipped the last grilled cheese sandwich onto the plate.

“Hoodini?” Ford could appreciate the pun, but still, why was his brother going around naming these things? He ignored Dipper’s groan at the name.

“Well, it’s not like I ever figured out how these owls get in and out of the Shack.”

Dipper snorted. “I’m surprised you don’t charge it rent.”

“Hey! That owl and its ancestors have earned me quite a bit of money over the years.” Stan said, turning off the stove and bringing the food over to the table. He didn’t bother calling for Mabel as she was at Grenda’s house. “Seeing an owl during the day is freaky enough, add in a spooky story and they’ll practically throw the money at you.

“Staying up during the day must be an inherited trait though,” Stan sat with the other two and picked up a sandwich, “because it’s like no matter how much I tell ‘em they’re supposed to sleep during the day, none of them have ever listened.”

Dipper dug into his food, having decided to drop the subject, but Ford hesitated to join them. He still didn’t like any of this situation and the omens were really beginning to stack up. But what exactly could he do?

He felt a slight prickling on his skin and turned to see Stan squinting at him. “What?” He asked while putting his guard up. He recognized that familiar teasing spark that was in the other’s eyes.

His brother snickered. “You know if that owl’s feathers were a bit more gray and we stuck some glasses on him, you two could be the ones mistaken for twins.”

Ford stared at Stan, appalled he would joke about this, and he was surprised that even Dipper seemed to be struggling to keep back some chuckles himself.

It was times like these that Ford couldn’t help but think that he was the only serious person in this family.

Luckily for them, he would still look after them regardless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I legitimately debated naming the owl Spot because it seemed like the sort of thing Stan would do. And then I looked up puny owl names and I couldn’t resist the temptation.
> 
> Also, Spotted Owls can be found in Oregon, which is why I chose that species of owl.


	5. The Black Cat at Midnight

Ford gave a small growl of frustration. He didn’t want to be awake in the middle of the night, but nightmares and the banshee seemed to have decided otherwise. He could her howling in the distance and he scowled at the sound.

He sighed and got up. He knew he wouldn’t get any additional sleep without any aides. In older days or during his travels, he would have used some… grown-up medicine, but Stan had forbidden all such things while the kids were here. Luckily, some tea made from Lullaby Leaves should remedy this.

Ford paused as he went past the stairs. Though he couldn’t remember the exact details of the nightmare, the fear that followed in its wake lingered in the back of his mind. He felt an inexplicable urge to check on the rest of his family. It’s not like it would hurt anyone, right?

With quiet steps, he decided to fulfill that urge, walking up to the attic and opening the door to the twins’ room. It gave a soft creak as he opened it just enough to peer in. A quick glance around showed both Dipper and Mabel sleeping peacefully in their beds. He couldn’t help the sigh of relief that escaped. He shut the door as quietly as possible and ignored the owl cooing softly in its sleep as he went back down the stairs.

Ford hesitated a moment as he came down, but then he made his way towards his brother’s room. He paused as he noticed a flicker of movement from the edge of his eyesight. Looking down, he caught sight of a black silhouette against the darker backdrop of the wall and the swish of a tail as whatever it was turned the corner.

Curious, Ford followed it, which was convenient as they seemed to be going in the same direction. He came around just in time to see the creature slip into Stan’s room. His brow furrowed in confusion as his brother normally kept his door shut. After all, the grim could just phase through the door if it wanted to join him.

Ford pushed the door open with a low creak. He looked around and saw that, yes, both Stan and the grim were asleep on the bed. His brother’s snores were audible all the way over here at the entrance, and while that helped soothe his lingering worries from his nightmare, it didn’t help him find that thing. He took a hesitant step into the room, trying to spot the creature he’d seen.

It was the swishing tail that gave its position away. Ford finally found it sitting down next to Stan’s bed, staring up at his younger brother.

It was a black cat; it looked normal with its sleek, black fur giving off a healthy shine but its emerald eyes glinted in the low light with some sort of _knowing_ as it looked over its shoulder at Ford. Apparently he wasn’t interesting enough to hold its attention as it returned its gaze to Stan.

There was something off about it, but he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what. After all, the Sha- house had been locked up tight for the night. Stan tended to be just as paranoid of securing the house as Ford, except for in the case of the animals/omens that kept springing up. Yet even now, Ford could feel that now familiar sense of dread.

At that moment, the cat let out a great meow. It seemed to reverberate through the air, raising the hair on Ford’s arm despite the warmth of the night. It stirred a faint memory from his old studies, and a glance at his watch confirmed his fears.

The hands showed it was midnight exactly.

A black cat meowing at midnight was yet another sign of approaching death.

The cat’s call was apparently enough to wake Stan, who stirred on the bed with a low groan. A wandering hand slapped at the bedside table until it found first his glasses and then his dentures and popped both into place. With blurry eyes blinking down at the cat, Stan sat up and peeked over the grim’s shaggy frame.

Ford wasn’t sure what sort of reaction he expected from Stan. Here was another death omen standing before him, but so far his brother had been quite blasé about them. You could almost say he welcomed them.

So he was somewhat surprised as Stan fell back onto his pillow with a huge sigh, pushing his glasses up to rub tired eyes. “Midnight, do you _have_ to do this?”

The grim seemed to agree as it let out a small huff and elected to ignore the cat in favor of snuggling into Stan’s side.

Ford would never get how that thing could seem like such a normal dog around his family. That wasn’t his biggest concern at the moment though, the cat was.

The cat smirked and hopped up onto the bed, crawling over the grim to flop down on Stan’s chest. Ford stared as Stan gave another weary sigh of acceptance before reaching up to gently pet the cat.

“Ford, shut your mouth before a bug flies in.”

Ford shut his mouth with a snap, not even having realized it was open in the first place. All these death omens must have made his brain finally break in some way.

“Speaking of late night guests, what are you doing in my room?” asked Stan as he pulled himself up to drape over the grim, the cat cradled in the crook of one of his arms.

It was quite a domestic look for his brother, something Ford had never imagined for him but had seen so many times since emerging from the portal, especially when it came to the kids, including his employees, and these creatures.

Then again, when he factored in that these were death omens cuddling up to his brother, the scene was suddenly a lot less cozy.

A part of him also found it strangely funny that Stan was bothered by him coming into his room when they had shared one for almost the first eighteen years of their lives.

“I was just – “ Ford wasn’t about to admit that he’d had a nightmare and just wanted to check up on him. Actually, these omens seemed to make his worries well warranted. “I caught sight of that,” he gestured at the cat, “and I followed it in here.”

Stan’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, as if sensing he wasn’t being told the whole truth, but he dropped it. “Well, it’s just Midnight, so it’s fine.”

“What kind of name is Midnight?” Ford knew a second after he said it that he shouldn’t have asked about it. Stan’s naming sense was odd enough with names like Gompers, Omen, Hoodini, and all those crow names floating around.

And that didn’t even get into the names of his exhibits.

“Well, you see, this little lady,” Stan gave the cat a little wiggle making it open its eyes in annoyance, “never makes a single peep most of the time. However, if it just so happens to be midnight, she’ll give a great big meow. It doesn’t matter if you’re trying to sleep or working on something.”

“Stanley, you do know what that means, right? A black cat meowing at midnight…” Ford trailed off. After all, he’d barely remembered that factoid, how could his brother possibly realize what it meant.

Stan gave him a grave look. “Of course I know what it means, Ford.”

Ford’s breath hitched. _Is Stanley going to finally admit that something weird is going on here? Has he finally noticed all these death omens and is going to take this seriously?_

“It means Midnight here is as much a little rascal as any other cat I’ve ever met. Sure, they can be cute little fluff balls, but then it’s like they take great lengths just to mess with you.” Stan gave the cat a meaningful look here, and though its eyes had fallen closed, the cat seemed too pleased with itself.

Ford’s shoulders fell in disappointment, because Stan had totally missed the point.

* * *

Stan gave a weary sigh, lifting up his glasses to rub his eyes. He emerged from the basement lab as sore as he always was.

If he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t sure exactly how much more he could do to repair the portal. He was fixing everything he could, but that wouldn’t change the fact that he didn’t know the start-up sequence or how to plug in the coordinates so the portal would locate his brother and bring him home. What he really needed was those other journals, probably another two judging by the design of the portal pages, and there were no signs of them.

Stan sighed again. It had been a long day and he was going to have to wake up early tomorrow because a group had called to request a tour extra early. It’s not like he could turn down that kind of money, especially as they were willing to pay extra for the odd time. He glanced at the clock and saw it was nearly midnight.

Normally, he would have stayed up later to continue working, but he figured he might as well turn in early tonight.

He startled a bit as he felt a warm body press against his leg. Looking down, he saw Omen peering up at him, her tail wagging. The sight made him relax like it always did. He had almost forgotten that the dog had been back again, as she usually avoided the basement. He gave her a fond pat. “How about a midnight snack before turning in?” He asked her.

The increase in wagging showed that she was game for a snack. He chuckled as he made his way to the kitchen.

“So let’s see?” Stan opened the refrigerator door and poked around. _Hey, where’s that plate of spaghetti I had left from supper?_ He paused though as three things happened in quick succession.

Omen growled. This was not strange in itself. The mysterious dog had a tendency to growl at what often appeared to be thin air but even Stan could sense had something off about it, like something was trying to hide.

The cuckoo clock in what he had turned into the living room went off, giving off every sound to show that it was now midnight. He was used to that too.

The sound of a great meow was not something he was familiar with.

He turned around and looked down to see a little black kitten. It was sitting in the middle of the kitchen, great green eyes staring up at him. Its tiny tail swished a bit as if in anticipation of a reaction. Another low growl from Omen told him that this was the being that had brought out her protective instincts.

Stan shut the fridge door and crouched down. “Easy, girl, it’s just a little kitten.” Omen stopped and looked at him quizzically.

He ignored her and held out his hand to the little thing. It was so tiny; he couldn’t help but wonder how old it was. He didn’t question how it got in though. After all, he had long grown used to animals somehow getting into the Shack.

The kitten blinked in surprise before leaning forward and sniffing his outstretched hand. It then glanced back up at his face before rubbing its head against his hand, its eyes closing in pleasure.

Stan cracked a grin. Of course, he knew all about how black cats were supposed to be unlucky; Ma, for all she was a phony herself, held quite a few superstitions to her chest and black cats were one of them. If he were to ask her, which he definitely wouldn’t since he was trying to not give away that he wasn’t Ford, she would tell him that finding one in his house with no explanation was nothing but a bad omen.

Stan didn’t believe in that though. He’d heard stories of what people did to these sorts of cats simply because they had black fur, and he didn’t like it. It’s not like these cats could choose what fur they had and no matter what they did, they were given a bad rap and treated terribly.

Stan could sympathize with that, just like he had sympathized with Omen that first time he saw her.

Plus, this was just a little kitten, it’s not like it knew any better. So he smiled as he heard a slight purring sound coming from the little critter.

“Let’s see if there’s something for all of us to snack on, huh?” He asked the kitten. He almost expected it to meow again, but it didn’t. Instead, it seemed to nod its head.

“Alrighty, then.” Stan turned back and re-opened the fridge. He spotted some leftover hotdogs and a bit of tuna for the animals, but he still couldn’t see his leftover spaghetti. He shifted some stuff to the side and frowned. _It should be in here…_

“Hey! Get away from me!”

Stan flinched at the unexpected voice and turned around to see a gnome sprinting across the kitchen, trying to avoid the kitten chasing after it.

In its hands was his plate of spaghetti.

“Hey!” He yelled right back at it. “That’s mine!”

The gnome looked startled and quickly hopped up to the window and threw it open. Before Stan could grab it, it flung itself out the window, yelling, “Cross this place off of the usual spots! There’s a cat here!”

There was a long moment of silence as the three residents just stared at the now bare windowsill. Somehow, Stan got a feeling that he was never getting that plate back.

He tossed the kitten an appraising look.

“Nice job, kid.” Stan bent down and scooped up the kitten, roughly petting it to show how happy he was. Those gnomes had been plaguing his kitchen for years, some of the spells in Ford’s journal only acting as a temporary relief from the invasion. However, just the sight of this creature, a girl he absently noted, had been enough to apparently take him off their raiding list.

He turned back to the fridge and got out the food for the two animals and instead located the fixings for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for himself. As he set down the kitten to eat her food on the floor with Omen, the dog and kitten shared a Look. It lasted a few moments so he couldn’t help but watch.

However, the two seemed to come to a silent agreement and started snarfing down the food on their plates.

Stan sat back and occasionally petted them while eating his sandwich; already, he felt a lot better than he had earlier.

* * *

“However, she’s really good at keeping gnomes away, better than those spells of yours. Even when she’s not around, the gnomes don’t come in fear of when she returns.” Stan continued. He started to scratch the cat under its chin.

“Doesn’t it concern you how it got in here with things all locked up at night?” Ford tried to point out. He couldn’t believe that his brother was passing off yet another omen.

Stan rolled his eyes. “We still don’t know how Gompers got in the other day to start eating those notes you left in your room, so I’m not exactly sure we would be able to find it. Besides,” he lifted the cat a bit higher up his arm, “this is a cat.”

Ford squinted. _Why would he emphasize that?_

“Have you ever listened to Lazy Susan?” Actually, Ford had no clue who his brother was talking about. “Even without that, in my own experience, cats are probably the most supernatural normal creatures there are. They can just disappear for hours or days, and you have no clue where they went or how they may have gotten out, and then they just pop back up, usually asking for food.”

Unfortunately, Ford didn’t have enough experience with cats to know whether that was true, but from what he had heard that was fairly accurate. He gave the cat a closer look. _Maybe I should study cats a bit more…_

Wait, there was still the whole death omen issue.

“How do you explain it living this long?” Ford knew he was kind of scraping the bottom of the barrel with this one as it hadn’t worked with the grim.

“Cats have nine lives.”

Ford facepalmed. That was just…

Okay, it might have been true but Ford was pretty sure it didn’t work that way. Probably.

“Ford.”

He looked up because Stan’s tone had changed. His younger brother was looking at him and he caught some flickers of worry going across his face.

“Is something wrong?” asked Stan.

This was coming from a guy that was perfectly fine with sleeping with two death omens. It was all Ford could do not to laugh hysterically.

“No. Nothing’s wrong.” Ford lied, because it’s not like Stan would understand anyway.

Stan gave him the same look he had earlier, and his lips thinned as his frown deepened. “Look, it’s the middle of the night. If there’s something you want to talk about, whether it’s Midnight or whatever, it’d probably be better to do it in the morning. As in when it’s actually daylight.”

Unfortunately, his brother had a good point. And it didn’t look like Stan was going to budge about these things.

“Right.” Ford said. “Good night, Stanley.” He turned and exited the room, not really noticing the worried eyes fixed on him.

“Good night, Poindexter.” He didn’t hear the soft reply either as he closed the bedroom door behind him.

Ford leaned against the door for a moment; somehow, that single interaction had left him exhausted. Still, he didn’t get the feeling that his sleep would be peaceful despite the exhaustion.

He headed towards his original destination. Hopefully, some tea would help him sleep, or at least not dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Cats are truly mysterious creatures. I thought about giving Midnight yellow eyes, for greater contrast with the night, but with Bill and everything I went with green.


	6. Death

Ford stared at the sight before him. He couldn’t believe it.

They were all here.

The grim trotted after Stan as per usual while he wrapped up his tour. The crows had claimed the roof today, but a couple had decided to perch next to Stan’s cashier Wendy as she sat in her “secret” spot. Looking to his right, Ford could see the banshee further down the tree line; her eyes never left Stan as she smiled and gave a small sigh. The owl had settled on top of the totem pole and Dipper was sitting in front of it, obviously sketching it and taking notes. Finally, the cat was curled up taking a nap on the porch for the gift shop with Mabel petting it and chatting with Soos as he repaired the golf cart.

He’d thought it before and he couldn’t help but think it again: this made absolutely no sense. By all rights, this scene should indicate that _someone_ in the Sha- house should be dead – probably five times over. Given how long these omens had been around and who they all fixated on, that _someone_ should be his brother.

Heck, there was practically a glowing neon sign pointed at Stan that said, “I’m going to die.”

Yet Stan was clearly still here. If the omens had truly been false, they would have disappeared long ago, leaving his brother alone. Instead, they kept coming back and all of these omens seemed to genuinely like him.

What was it about Stan that attracted death to him?

Ford didn’t know. He didn’t know, but he had to figure it out. Because this was his little brother. Even if they weren’t always on the best of terms (more like most of the time they didn’t seem to be), Ford was still going to look after him.

For now though, all Ford could do was look around incredulously. There was a huge difference between seeing one or two at a time like he had been and seeing all five death omens at the once hanging around his family.

He was startled by a rustling to his left. Ford was hesitant before turning to look at the source of the noise, because he didn’t think he could handle _another_ omen at the moment.

He saw the newcomer and his mouth immediately dried out and his heart leapt to his throat. There was no doubt who this was.

It was Death.

Ford had once theorized that there were both Grim Reapers, who were essentially minions that did most of the day to day collection of souls and were what most people thought of when it came to the subject, and then Death, the big boss of it all. The being before him was not a simple Reaper though.

The figure was cloaked in black, the traditional robe most thought of when Death came to mind, and it almost seemed to merge with the shadows, flickering in an unfelt breeze. From the folds of its robe, Ford could see corpse pale hands peeking through. He was grateful that he couldn’t see the being’s face, because just looking into the shadows of the hood gave him chills. And it was the way he felt as he looked at this being, an overwhelming, oppressive sense of dread and despair that was even stronger than the grim’s aura, that told him this was Death itself.

Something made him pause though, despite every instinct in him screaming at him to get away. Maybe it was just the scientist in him, but for a moment, he found that he just had to stop and observe it.

Death was looking around, just like Ford had been mere moments ago. It looked at the grim, the murder of crows, the banshee, the owl, and the cat. As he watched, Ford was surprised to find that the omens were staring right back. Each of the omens had stopped what they were doing, with even the cat opening one lazy eye, to fix a glare at Death. There was an undercurrent of power to the stare-off, a very clear warning.

_They’re protecting him._ Ford thought with a jolt of surprise. There was no doubt in his mind who it was they were attempting to protect.

It was a shocking thought. Death omens were meant to be a warning of impending doom, if not a direct cause in a person’s demise. However, for one reason or another, these creatures had sensed Death’s approach and shown up just to protect Stan. Just as they must have been doing for years.

Rather than bringing Death to Stan’s doorstep, they had kept Death away, saving his brother.

This was as mind boggling as their presence in the first place.

Still, Ford could almost feel sorry for Death, because it was looking around as if at a loss of what to do just like he had been. He found that there was really only one thing he could do.

“Here.”

Death seemed a bit startled at being interrupted. He turned to Ford and peered down at the canteen in his outstretched hand. Hopefully, Stan would never know how he managed to sneak the contents of the canteen into the house, but frankly, it looked like Death could use a drink.

Death took the canteen somewhat hesitantly, but there was no pause as it tilted it back to take a big swig. It then handed it back with a great sigh.

“Still not today.” Its voice was an interesting mix of a growl and a whisper. It was hard to really pinpoint it.

Death pulled out a notebook and opened it to a bookmarked page. Putting away his canteen in his trench coat, Ford leaned over to catch a glimpse inside. He felt a lead weight in his stomach as he read the title at the top of the page.

In beautiful calligraphy, it bared the name “Stanley Cassandra Pines.”

Under his name were dozens of potential deaths. The first five or so were written in a normal size, but after that point the size of the short phrases was drastically reduced. Each one was crossed out though as Stan had obviously continued to survive. Ford couldn’t make many of them out, but one of the ones he managed to read made him feel sick to his stomach.

He knew all too well what sort of severe burn on Stan’s shoulder could have led to an infection that might have killed him.

Though Ford could admit that some of the other potential deaths he caught sight of really made him want to sit his brother down and thoroughly discuss what exactly Stan had done during first those ten years after high school as well as in the past thirty years. After all, what could “Death via Llama” mean?

Death snapped the book shut before he could read any more and the noise seemed to echo with finality. It slid the book back into its robe. “I’ll give it a week or two before I’m back.” It grumbled lowly.

Ford figured he probably wasn’t supposed to hear that.

Death gave Ford a nod, perhaps in thanks for the drink or in goodbye, before seeming to melt away into the ether.

Ford stared at the spot the specter had been mere moments ago. He found himself going over to the nearest log and sitting down heavily. A glance back to the house showed the omens had returned to acting normal. Still, his eyes drifted once more to that spot.

He was grateful that Death had left without getting what it came for. That at least was something he was sure of. Its parting words were not very reassuring though, and just the _length_ of that list…

Seriously, how was his brother still alive?

“Stanford.”

Ford flinched in surprise at the sudden voice and jerked his eyes up to see Stan frowning down at him. He then looked past him to see everyone else had gone inside to do their jobs and sell merchandise to the tourists. If Ford wasn’t mistaken though, he would say Stan was watching him with worry.

“Jeez, I called your name, like, five times, Poindexter. The least you can do is pay attention.” Stan rolled his eyes and sat down next to him.

“Right.” Ford said, trying to avoid Stan’s eyes as he looked him over. Just a few minutes ago he was thinking about how he wanted to talk to his brother but now that he was here, he also didn’t want to talk to him about this. After all, Death had quite literally just been here to try to collect him.

Actually, now that he thought about it, he really should have tried to catch how Stan was supposed to have died today.

Stan had a look on his face that Ford hadn’t seen in ages. It was the same look he’d give right before yanking the book Ford was hiding behind from his hands and demanding to know who had dared to mess with him, whether physically or through taunts. His younger brother had always had a sense for when something was bugging Ford, and he had always been persistent in figuring out what was wrong.

“Are you freaking out because of all the death omens around here? Or is it something else?” Stan asked.

“Yes. It – “ Ford answered automatically before doing a double-take. “Wait a minute! You admit that they’re omens! But you – “

“To be fair, Ford, you only told me that Omen was a death omen.” Stan pointed out.

Ford blinked in surprise and quickly ran over their previous conversations in his mind. That was actually true.

“With all the others, you were just focusing on how weird it was that they were still alive or just how not normal they are in general,” Stan spread his arms to emphasize his point, “Which as I mentioned is a moot point in Gravity Falls.”

_Well, maybe I would have been clearer if you had shown any inclination in listening to my advice._ Ford thought, somewhat disgruntled. “So what helped you finally figure out their true nature?” He grumbled. He narrowed his eyes in thought. _If one of those things tried to do something…_

“The Internet is a thing, Poindexter.”

“The what?” It seems that this was another thing that he needed to catch up on from the past thirty years.

“The kids haven’t taught you about that yet? It’s pretty much the best way to research information nowadays. I’m sure Dipper would be thrilled to show you, though if you have been to super sci-fi worlds like you said, you’ve probably seen something similar.” Stan said, “Anyway, so yeah, I just looked up the different stuff you were having a conniption over and saw that lots of people consider these guys death omens.” He paused. “I also may have found an explanation as to why it’s always been hard for me to hang mirrors on the wall besides ones that are considered part of a cabinet.”

“Wait, what?”

“Anyway,” Stan continued, “my point is what exactly about these supposed omens are freaking you out?”

Ford blinked at his brother. “Isn’t the fact that they’re death omens enough?”

Stan was silent for a long moment. “It’s not like they want to be omens, you know. The people who know what they are, they probably haven’t treated them very well. It’s not like they want to be omens or want people to die. They just are. I don’t see why I should treat them differently whether they’re just animals and a forest guardian or actual death omens.”

At that time, Ford realized why the death omens loved Stan so much, because it was one of the reasons why _he_ had always loved his brother.

Despite a person or being’s weirdness or abnormality, Stan accepted that and treated the person like they were normal.

He had only made a big deal out of Ford’s hands when he was defending him and had always tried to help him feel comfortable about it. He fed these various death omens because he thought they were hungry or provided shelter because that was what immediately caught his attention, not the fact that they were strange. He waved at the banshee because he thought she was nice, even when he realized that she wasn’t human.

Stan didn’t necessarily care what you were; even if he put up a front of not really caring about someone at all, he would still help that person out.

“Besides,” Stan was saying, “these guys have never tried to hurt me. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

Ford took that in and frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Well, once when working on the portal, some stuff fell on me and Omen pulled me out. Another time, some… former associates of mine tracked me down,” Stan roughly cleared his throat, “the crows nearly pecked their eyes out when they attempted to get reinforcements.”

Stan continued talking about a few other incidents, like the banshee guiding him around a bad part of the woods or the owl freaking out one of the Northwests’ lackeys, but Ford wasn’t really paying as much attention as he probably should.

It seems that he was right that the omens just wanted to protect Stan. If that was the case, he supposed that he could tolerate their existence. Plus, they seemed to be a deterrent for Death itself, and he really didn’t want to see that being around again.

Stan had stopped, he belatedly realized. He looked over at him and saw that his brother was still giving him that look.

“So you and the omens good now?”

“I suppose.” Ford said, but that didn’t seem to be what his brother was looking for.

“And there’s nothing else you want to talk about?” Stan narrowed his eyes at him. Obviously, his brother could tell that there was still something bothering Ford.

For a second, Ford thought about telling Stan about the Rift that was sitting in his lab, or about why he had had to make a barrier around the Shack – _Dangit, I’ve been trying not to get sucked into calling it that_ – and Bill Cipher. But that would probably put his brother in more danger than he already seemed to naturally be in. He didn’t need to give Stan even more reason to court Death.

A stray thought occurred to Ford that maybe Stan had actually tried to literally _court_ a Reaper and that’s why Death showed up instead. He really hoped Stan’s luck in love wasn’t _that_ bad.

“No, there’s nothing you need to know about.” Ford lied, throwing his brother a reassuring grin.

Stan didn’t seem to buy it, but at least he dropped the subject. He easily shrugged off the subject and stood. “Well,” he stretched his back with a sharp crack, “in any case, I hope this means you’re going to start calling everyone by their names.”

“I am not going to call them by those ridiculous names.” Ford deadpanned.

“What do you mean ridiculous?! My names are genius!”

Together, they started heading back to the Shack. Ford absently thought he probably shouldn’t go in considering there were still tourists around, but Stan would most likely explain it away and earn more money to boot.

“I did see a couple of your commercials back in the day, Stanley. You really want to argue about names when you literally had a product called ‘Sham.’”

“I don’t have to take this. I’m old.”

“We’re only 58. And I’m the older one.”

“Don’t tell the people who give me senior citizen benefits that. If anyone asks, we’re 68.”

Ford rolled his eyes and tried to suppress a smile.

Even with all these death omens hanging over them, things would be okay.

Probably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: There are actually two reasons why Death will personally reap Stan: 1. Stan is an anomaly by managing to escape him time and time again. This intrigues Death and he wants to see Stan properly die when the time comes. 2. Stan did in fact unintentionally flirt with Reapers sent after him and they were so charmed that Death decided he was a better choice.
> 
> This was inspired by the JOML/Grim AU for the most part, but it was also inspired by yhr many death and fire symbols that surrounded Stan and made it seem like his kicking the bucket was assured in the finale. Of course, he did burn and die in a way but not the one we were expecting.
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)

**Author's Note:**

> AN: I really love the JOML AU by notllorstel especially the stuff about the Grim. I really like this fic; it was a lot of fun to write. And here’s some notes that people asked me about on FanFiction.net so I thought I’d just post about it here.
> 
> Lullaby Leaves: This plant can easily be identified by its bright blue, sparkling leaves that mimic the night sky. Lullaby Leaves can be used as a sedative when made in a soothing tea, and it’s non-addictive. It does work every time though, which makes it effective. Do not eat the leaves directly though, as you will end up in a Sleeping Beauty type situation. (Named after an item in Dungeons, Dungeons, & More Dungeons.)


End file.
